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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27484282">The Universe Between Us</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/phooykazooi/pseuds/phooykazooi'>phooykazooi</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>From One Star to the Next [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Mandalorian (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Character Study, Force-Sensitive Corin, M/M, Mandalorian Culture, Mind Manipulation, Past Sexual Abuse, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Unethical Experimentation, corin's shitty past, no beta we die like the prequels</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 20:35:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,111</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27484282</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/phooykazooi/pseuds/phooykazooi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When Corin was a child, he stole his father's block of <em>beskar</em> and asked his mother to help him shape it.</p><p>"Into what?" his mother had asked.</p><p>Next to his mother, Corin’s favorite thing in all the universe was snow, so he decided to smelt the precious metal into a snowflake. A lifetime later, he barters the <em>beskar</em> snowflake to a Mandalorian in exchange for safe passage out of Imperial-controlled space.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) &amp; Corin the Stormtrooper (Rescue and Regret) &amp; Din Djarin, Corin the Stormtrooper (Rescue and Regret)/Din Djarin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>From One Star to the Next [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1694911</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>208</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Movies</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. a Different Beginning</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyIrina/gifts">LadyIrina</a>.</li>


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/21648874">Rescue and Regret</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyIrina/pseuds/LadyIrina">LadyIrina</a>.
        </li>
        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22289206">halfway between the black and grey</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/UFOtofu/pseuds/UFOtofu">UFOtofu</a>.
        </li>
        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22441135">Learning about more than combat</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clarimonde/pseuds/Clarimonde">Clarimonde</a>.
        </li>
        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/1752638">This, You Protect</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlet/pseuds/owlet">owlet</a>.
        </li>
        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/5798602">have you heard</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/peradi/pseuds/peradi">peradi</a>.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>slight AU of my own AU</p><p>thanks to LadyIrina for creating Corin and starting this rolling stone</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>When Corin Valentis was four years old, he spied a block of </span>
  <em>
    <span>beskar </span>
  </em>
  <span>sitting on his father’s trophy shelf. He had climbed the shelves and plucked it from its high place, enraptured by the silver gleam, and showed it to his mother. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mama, Mama!” he had shouted at the top of his lungs, running through the wide hallways of his opulent house. “Look, Mama--it’s pretty! Can we smelt it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Corin remembered learning of metallurgy in school, and he knew that </span>
  <em>
    <span>beskar </span>
  </em>
  <span>was the best substance for the practice (his father often boasted of </span>
  <em>
    <span>beskar</span>
  </em>
  <span>’s almost mystical properties). His mother had smiled at him and took the </span>
  <em>
    <span>beskar </span>
  </em>
  <span>from his clenched hands. She must have known how his father would react, but she only nodded and said, “Of course, baby. What would you like to change it into?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thought for a moment. Next to his mother, Corin’s favorite thing in all the universe was snow, so he decided to smelt the precious metal into a snowflake. He and his mother travelled to the local smithy and under the watchful eye of the blacksmith, he carefully, reverently, shaped the </span>
  <em>
    <span>beskar</span>
  </em>
  <span> into the likeness into a dozen snowflakes. The project took months, and Corin had never been prouder of his art. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His father had been furious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Corin was shipped off to the Academy, and he never saw his mother again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The </span>
  <em>
    <span>beskar </span>
  </em>
  <span>was taken. He thought it had been reshaped into blocks, but it turned out his mother convinced his father to keep the </span>
  <em>
    <span>beskar </span>
  </em>
  <span>snowflakes as they were. They were returned to Corin when his paternal line was annihilated with the Deathstar. Suddenly, he had a sizable fortune that he would never bring himself to sell.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>He barters the thickest </span>
  <em>
    <span>beskar </span>
  </em>
  <span>snowflake to a Mandalorian, as payment for safe passage out of Imperial-controlled space.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you get me out of here,” he says to a bounty hunter, “it’s yours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His Stormtrooper helmet is stifling, despite the chill of the air. The snowflake hangs from a thin </span>
  <em>
    <span>beskar </span>
  </em>
  <span>chain, glittering in the harsh mountain air and endowed with equally precious memories. In his pocket are eleven more, each unique and individually crafted. He’s aware that he may need to barter those as well, but he would prefer to keep at least one for himself. Corin’s mother taught him of its cultural significance, and Corin ruthlessly uses that knowledge. The Mandalorian is utterly focused on the object, his weapon held tight and his body language clearly gives away his interest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Safe passage,” Corin reiterates, palming the metal, cold sweat trickling down his temples. “Unharmed and hale, </span>
  <em>
    <span>then</span>
  </em>
  <span> you get your payment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Mandalorian is stock-still, T-visor fixated on Corin’s fist. Finally, he says, “Deal,” and lowers the rifle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a tentative truce. The man would rather kill Corin than help him, but it seems he will uphold his word. Corin will need to watch his own back during the voyage, but for now he believes the </span>
  <em>
    <span>beskar </span>
  </em>
  <span>will stay the Mandalorian’s hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Just a few days,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Corin thinks to himself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>A few days, then we’ll part ways and we’ll never see each other again.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, he meets the Mandalorian’s child, and he has the distinct feeling he’s about to get attached. </span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>He gets attached.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Corin had always enjoyed working with children. For most of his career, he worked exclusively with kids. He charmed the right people, sucked the right cocks, and guaranteed himself a teaching position with the cadets. He taught the younger generation for thirteen perfect years, kept himself and as many of his students as he could reasonably allow off the front lines. He has no kill count to speak of, nor the bloodthirst of his officers, and his superiors assumed him cowardly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As a non combatant, he was the butt of many jokes, and he had to be careful of predatory officers, but overall his life was satisfactory. He personally assured the advancement of his cadets, made sure that none of his students were sent to disreputable officers or anywhere below their stations. Sure, his superiors assumed he lacked ambition, but who cared what they thought? He and his people were taken care of, and that was all he cared about.</span>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>For all of you worried about the future of Dyn's inevitable straight romance--this is for u. Don't give up fighting for representation</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Things don't go according to plan.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>sorry if this is confusing, i just wanted to pump this chapt out &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Mandalorian and his child would never make it off the ice planet.</p><p>His ship is not space-worthy, and it won’t be until the Mandalorian acquires the parts necessary to repair it. He can’t get to those parts without catching the attention of the Empire, so Corin bites the bullet and acts as distraction. </p><p>(He gives the child the <em> beskar </em>snowflake. It turns out he won’t be leaving the clutches of the dead Empire any time soon, so he parts with one prize of many, as thanks for sparing his life.)</p><p>For his negligence on the Crystal Planet, Corin is reconditioned. His mind is scraped from his skull and moulded into the shape of the perfect Imperial Stormtrooper. Unlike most of the others, he recovers himself in a matter of hours. Usually, it takes weeks for a trooper to regain some semblance of self, but CN-113’s always been a quick healer, particularly in regards to matters of the mind. Though his brain feels mushy and molten, soon enough his thoughts are his own. He’s issued a new heat blanket, though he doesn’t recall the circumstances that led him to losing it, and is sent on his way.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>He is reassigned to hell on earth. It’s a volcanic monstrosity of a planet, a place where the air is sulphuric and the rivers are made of lava. It’s name is Nevarro, but Corin calls it the Hellscape. He’s had nightmares of this place, strange and disjointed dreams where magma churned beneath the surface of the crust, hot and hungry. He dreamed that that lava rose from the earth and consumed him whole. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t put much stock into those dreams because that’s all they are: nightmares; worries of an uncertain future.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There is no escape from the heat on Nevarro, not even in his insulated Stormtrooper armor. His head pounds like it never has before, throbbing between his temples and aching something fierce. Sweat pools under his arms and sticks between the skin of his thighs, disgusting and dreary.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s in Hellscape that he discovers the Client’s asset is a baby.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s been partnered with some wannabe mercenary who is impatient and brusque, but doesn’t mind the lack of conversation. His partner has the Asset in a bag that must be sweltering, and doesn’t give a romp-rat’s ass about the comfort of an obvious child. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you think it is?” Corin asks, as though he can’t tell.</span>
</p><p>“Who cares?” is the reply. </p><p>The little bundle struggles and babbles, and only stops for a moment when it’s hit. Corin clenches his jaw, assumes the spike of pain in his head is dehydration, and says, “Maybe you shouldn’t. Moff Gideon may want it undamaged.”</p><p>His partner stares. Wordlessly, he smacks the bundle.</p><p>Corin’s grip tightens on his speeder’s handlebars. <em> If he does that again, </em> he swears as his migraine pounds in tandem with his hearbeat, <em> I’ll kill him. </em></p><p>Soon enough, the Asset whines and sluggishly writhes. CT-222 raises his arm, but Corin shoots him between the eyes before the strike can land. CT-222 slumps to the ground bonelessly, helmet smoking. The baby squeals. Corin dismounts and approaches. He kneels and opens the bag, peers inside. He sees the top of a fuzzy green head and ginormous ears, then wide, dark eyes. </p><p>Corin can’t help himself. He reaches out slowly and is surprised that the babe doesn’t struggle as he’s held. He’s passive as Corin cradles him, blinking huge guileless eyes at Corin’s intimidating faceplate. </p><p>“Hello, little one,” Corin coos. “You’re just a little troublemaker, aren’t you?” Carefully keeping the baby’s line of sight away from the cooling corpse of his former partner, he stands. He has to take a moment to simply sway in the ungodly heat, sweat dripping down the back of his neck, then readjusts his grip on the Asset. He checks him for injury, but he seems fine—alert and curious, the little thing fearlessly stares at Corin, calm despite the treatment he’s endured. Corin moves to sit on his speeder, his back to the scene behind him, and rests the child on top of his thighs. Then, acting on an impulse he’ll only ever admit to under direct interrogation, he removes his helmet. </p><p>The baby’s ears lift and his face takes on a look of pure wonder. Corin’s laughter bubbles out from somewhere deep inside of him, someplace that hasn’t seen happiness for far too long. “Yeah, there’s a face under here. Wild, am I right?”</p><p>Little arms reach out demandingly. Smiling widely, Corin balances the helmet on a handlebar and raises the child to view his bare face. His breath leaves him in a helpless chuckle as clawed fingers pap stubbly cheeks. He gibbers excitedly, and Corin nods. </p><p>“Yes, I know. It’s against regulations, but my superiors have been lax with me lately. Who has time to shave when there’s a baby on the loose, huh?”</p><p>And so, Corin spends the time talking with a baby utterly fascinated by his naked expressions, and Corin indulges him by exaggerating any and all facial ticks. As the child rests cool three-fingered hands on his temple, his headache blessedly abates, and Corin can think a smidge more clearly. He knows that he'll be investigated for the death of his partner, but that’s a problem for future-Corin. Right now, he enjoys the innocence of the child, and tries not to ache at the loss of his students.</p><p>Unfortunately, he gets the call to return, and so that’s what Corin is duty-bound to do. He slips his helmet back onto his sweaty head, returns the Asset to his sack, mounts the speeder, and follows his orders. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Dyn, when he finds the baby playing with the <em>beskar</em> snowflake that costs like $600+: that motherfucker didn't even let me do my <em>job</em></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>:)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Because God hates him, he is forced to stay in the Hellscape. </p><p>Apparently, there is a secret base that’s been established since before Corin was born. It’s a hop and a skip from the town, and Corin reports to his commanding officer, wherein he is issued shiny, polished-white plastoid and seamlessly joins his new squad. He is the same as all the other Stormtroopers, nameless and faceless and barely bearing a rank. His teaching days are well behind him, now, and all that is left for him is to serve the Empire in all of her glory. </p><p>(How is it they can have an Empire without an Emperor? He’s pretty sure that’s one of the thoughts that got him reconditioned, so he keeps the thought tucked deep within himself.)</p><p>The base, he learns, draws its power from a magma plume in Hellscape's upper mantle, and in the place of a volcano is a manmade wonder of geoengineering. Why in the sweet Silence of the Void anyone would dare to tempt the wrath of a volcanic planet is way beyond Corin’s purview. He just knows he’s standing on top of a geological time bomb and there’s literally nothing he can do about it.</p><p>(Except dream. Dear Lord, his dreams are all about erupting volcanoes and flowing lava and churning magma, and only a few of those dreams are nightmares. Mostly, it’s just him swimming in molten rock and breathing magnetic fields. They’re trippy, but they’re better than the ones about the reactor overloading and everyone dying, which—c’mon. How likely is that?)</p>
<hr/><p>The day he takes the speeder and steals the Asset from an unconscious Ugnaught is not one that he will remember. His partner’s blaster shots went wide, but Corin’s aim was true. He had the Ugnaught in his sights and was prepared to kill the man, but instead shot him in the back, in a place that would be deadly for most hominids but is only mildly life-threatening for the alien. His partner snatched the Asset from the ground and the two of them sped away. </p><p>
  <span>After the unfortunate death of his partner, Corin had sat on top of his own speeder and played with the child. The little guy had a visible interest in the pouch that held Corin’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>beskar</span>
  </em>
  <span> snowflakes, so what else was he to do except show them off?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know what happened to one of the other ones,” Corin confessed, palming the second thickest of the baubles. “But if you take good care of it, it can last generations.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Geeboo,” the child said, both hands gently gripping the glittering edges.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The IG-11 was such a surprise that Corin didn’t even have the presence of mind to pluck the snowflake out of the tiny hands. Corin lifted his head at the sound of heavy footsteps and tensed as the droid just kind of...walked right up to him and said, “I am this child’s nurse droid.”</span>
</p><p>Corin was white-knuckling the handlebars. His heart was beating very quickly. His head didn’t hurt as much as it did a few minutes ago, but he could feel the migraine returning. He looked at this droid, swallowed past a dry throat, and said, “I thought IG are all hunters.”</p><p>“I’ve been reprogrammed.” It stepped closer, its footfalls clunky and painfully loud. “Hand over the child immediately.”</p><p>Corin wished to say he put up a fight, but that is patently untrue. He saw this robot coming, with its blood-red lights and its swiveling gun apparatus, and felt to the depths of his soul that if he resisted, he would die. </p><p>He had a lot to live for. The Empire, for one. She will rise again, and he’s duty-bound to be there when she does (his headache bloomed to life, stabbing him right behind his left eye). His missing <em> Beskar </em>snowflake, for another. Those things are expensive; if someone stole from him, he wanted to live long enough to find out who it was. Sure, it’s sentimental of him, but those little trinkets are important to him. </p><p>Corin glanced at the sack and saw the baby peering out at him through the opening. </p><p>The IG-11 partially turned its head to regard Corin’s dead companion. “For your service in the protection of my charge, I will leave your skull unfractured,” it said.</p><p>IG-11 took the baby and only broke both of Corin’s arms while the deed was being done. So, you know. At least when he reports back in, he won’t have to tell anyone <em> he </em>killed his own partner. </p><p>(Not that it matters. The blaster reported his shot, and he's not capable of lying to a commanding officer. Good soldiers follow orders, and his orders were to bring the Asset to Moff Gideon. He was not supposed to kill his comrade, and for that, he is reconditioned.)</p>
<hr/><p>Corin’s homeworld is a cold and distant memory. He remembers the mountains that rose high into the sky, piercing the clouds and capped with snow. He remembers his mother’s voice as she talked him through some sort of horrible mood he was in the grips of, as she told him how to release his anger into the world around him. </p><p>“Imagine your thoughts as the snow,” Mama had said softly, her long black hair kissed by snowflakes. “Cast yourself out and let the cool breeze take all your negativity, all your hard words and all your happy thoughts. Breathe with the wind, and the cold will blow away the clouds in your heart.”</p><p>When he was forced away from his home and into the hard universe, it was the Void he cast himself into. The Void didn’t care for all the petty scrabbles of the little lifeforms that clung to the rocks in deep space. What care did the Void have for war or starvation or sickness? What care would the Universe have for the things that ventured outside of a star’s gravity well? Its biggest concern, Corin felt, was that every galaxy was refreshed by the explosive death of giant stars, that the building blocks of life would coalesce into more stars for the further enrichment of the Universe. The Void was vast and ever-expanding, and planets and stars and satellites were thinly tethered by the pull of gravity. </p><p>CT-113 cares only about the next order. His only want is the betterment of the Empire, but how is it better to care for something that is dead?</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Dyn, after finding <em>another</em> snowflake in his son's mouth, softly: <em>what the fuck</em></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I made some edits to the previous chapters</p><p>Enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It takes longer than is typical for CT-113 to recover himself. For nearly a week, he’s little more than a zombie, mindless and droid-like. His fellows treat him with kid gloves or else have nothing at all to say to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“C’mon, guys,” says FN-948, sneering audibly through the vocalizer. “He’s no fun like this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The droid their squad was harassing hisses at their backs, black carapace smoking. Blaster marks dot the area around it, and CT-113 watches dispassionately as they leave. His shots were the only ones that landed, and it seems his team is displeased with his lack of satisfaction. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>DM-31 regards him warily, its antennae shaking with anger. “Cease and desist,” it says in binary. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Affirmative,” CT-113 responds, yet makes no move to follow his comrades. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Its hiss is more threatening, as though it believes him to be lying. “Mission: clean,” it beeps threateningly and moves to clear the debri from the ground. The air outside stinks of sulphur; without his armor, CT-113 would be uncomfortably hot. “Dangerous,” it mutters as its cleaning fluids soak into the concrete. “Base: on volcano.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>CT-113 absently picks up a small block of obsidian, evidence of the volcanic activity beneath them. Sometimes, the earth burps up chunks of rock and it’s the responsibility of the maintenance droids to clear them from the base. He turns the stone over in his hand, then pockets it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The droid aggressively lunges at him. “Trash!” it burbles. “Mission objective: clean and maintain the base!” A pincer emerges from its body and it clicks at CT-113 demandingly. “This unit demands the trash,” it says accusingly and snaps the pincer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>CT-113 removes the rock from his pouch and obeys. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>DM-31 chitters and vindictively incinerates the rock. It seems to stare at him as it does, as though daring him to shoot it again. Its lights flicker red, blue, red, blue. Finally, it chirps and asks, “Query: designation?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“CT-113,” he responds, his eyes roving the outside of the base for threats.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tch!” It imitates the human sound perfectly and shudders as if slighted. “Designation!” it repeats, more heatedly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>CT-113 glances at DM-31 blankly. “Designation: CT-113,” he reiterates.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>DM-31 watches him shrewdly. “Hmph.” It drops the subject, instead angling itself so CT-113 can see the blaster mark. “Repair the damage that that one has done to this unit,” it demands, and this, too, Corin obeys. He takes a knee and unarms himself so he has both his hands free, then takes out the toolkit. Quickly and efficiently, he solders the damage he did to the droid until DM-31 chirps, pleased. Its sensors scan him and it says, “Query: central processing unit?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>CT-113 frowns behind his faceplate. “Query is not understood.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quieter, it says, “Tch. Your flesh brain. Clarification: not needed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The soldering tool is replaced with the others in the kit, then returned to his utility belt. “Clarification </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>needed. I don’t understand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah,” it says. “You have been reprogrammed. Expression: sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>CT-113 retakes his blaster and abruptly stands. “Tch,” he says expressionlessly. “Unnecessary.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>— </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He finds himself in bits and pieces. He feels some semblance of peace, of himself, when he stands still and silent under the light of the stars. A man named Corin tilts his head up to the night sky and watches the constellations, marveling quietly at the beauty of the Universe. Some of the patterns are the same, like the Boar barreling through the cosmos or the Loth-cat pouncing on the Loth-rat. The Outer Rim has new and unfamiliar constellations, but Corin’s past as a teacher allows him to reconnect these different stars to the more distant satellites twinkling lightyears away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes those moments on automatic, a habit that no realignment can shake. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a beep at his knee and Corin looks down to see a maintenance droid blinking up at him. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Salutations,” DM-31 boops. They have spoken a handful of times, and Corin has been told in no uncertain terms that the pronouns she prefers are feminine. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Females are strong, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she had said. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Once, a female brought doom upon Darth Vader himself. </span>
  </em>
  <span>When he asked for clarification, she had rolled away and didn’t speak to him for days.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods at her in greeting, turning back to the sight of the night sky. “Hi, Doombot. How are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She blats. “Statement: this unit’s designation is DM-31. ...Doombot is acceptable. Status?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hums. “I’ve been better. Hey, can you do me a favor?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She imitates his hum. “Perhaps.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He reaches into his utility belt and hooks the strings of his pouch around his fingers. He glances up and down the hall, checking for searching eyes, then takes a knee and opens the pouch. “I’ve had these since I was kid. They’re...expensive.” Doombot wheels closer and makes a cut-off exclamation at the small fortune hidden in the pouch. “Sh! Look, just—if you can keep an eye out or something, it’d be appreciated. Someone’s been stealing from me, and I want to find out who.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her lights flicker, considering. “Query: why not steal the entire pouch?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shakes his head. “I don’t know.” And then, a sense of deja-vu overcoming him (along with a strange, shadowed pain in his temples), he says, “They’re important to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stares at him. “Tch. This unit will do as Friend Corin asks. Should this unit find that one’s missing property, she will utilize her incinerator on the fool thief.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiles and pats her dark carapace. “Thanks, Doomie.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Corin made a friend!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Corin’s schedule has always been tightly regulated. Every minute of every hour is carefully calculated to optimize his value for the Empire, and sleep is the highest priority of all. It’s a time that he jealously guards and even the slightest change can impact his behavior. The human body requires REM sleep for optimal performance, and as such he is never pleased to have his routine changed. So you can imagine his unhappiness as Doombot prods him awake three hours before his shift. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“What, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Doombot?” he snaps, horribly disgruntled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Order: wake, Friend Corin!” The droid’s buzzer crackles inches from his smarting thigh. “Follow or face Doombot’s wrath!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Corin groans, quietly because the rest of his bunkmates haven’t woken and he doesn’t feel like answering their questions. There’s no way he’ll be able to roll over and go back to dreamland now that he’s awake, so he does as he is bid and grumpily slips out of the covers. Doombot won’t allow him to wash his face or brush his teeth, citing that time is of the essence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Doombot leads him deep into the base, through corridors that Corin’s not sure has seen any foot traffic in eons. According to his mental map, they are entering the heat shaft, where the generator siphons the heat of the magma plume and uses it for energy. As they travel further underground, he can almost sense the rising pressure. The layers of earth compound upon each other, held up only by the manufactured tunnels. They pass warnings, posted to keep out the untrained soldiers. Doombot pays no mind to the caution signs or the sternly worded letters, wheeling past checkpoints without concern. Corin follows more cautiously, but her impatience prompts him to hustle, trusting in her reasoning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wheels them into the heat shaft itself, into a place where magma bubbles into the open air of the manufactured shaft and rages against the heat-resistant metal of the generator. The heat here is deeply uncomfortable, even through the armor, and he fears that the soles of his boots will melt on the bridge. Ahead, the walkway stretches across the perilous drop and digs into the sheer cliff face, railless and patently unsafe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doombot,” he calls loudly, having to raise his voice over the sound of the churning far below. “What are we doing here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Molten earth provides ambient light as magma broils. The droid spins around, her chassis especially dark against the light spilling upward like blood. The binary tones of her robotic voice are inhuman in the rolling pressure of the heat shaft. “Doombot is doing what she must to ensure her friend’s survival. Order: now, kneel!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, well. Corin’s been conditioned to follow orders, so what else is he to do but obey? He crouches, places his two-handed weapon behind him, and takes a knee.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” she shrills. “Both knees down.” He does as told, resting his bottom on the heels of his boots. “Good. Fists on thighs, just so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay? Doombot, what exactly am I doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She lets out a queer sequence of sounds that he’s certain has no translation, then says, “This unit demands silence. That one shall listen closely: feel the metal beneath his knees, how it holds him. Does he trust that it will protect him against the power he feels beneath?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Corin clenches his jaw in frustration. Sweat drips down his forehead, plasters his hair to his skin. Maybe if he goes along with her demands, he will be allowed to leave this hellish place soon. The grate under his knees is hot, almost scalding, but it is sturdy and it has held for a long time. “Yeah,” he says. “I...</span>
  <em>
    <span>trust</span>
  </em>
  <span> it won’t topple out from under me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She chitters. “Friend Corin lacks faith in Imperial engineering. This is good. He knows that the strength of a planet is not something to be tamed or controlled, but to be feared. He must have faith that the distance between the magma and himself will remain the same and that his armor will shield him. Does he have faith in the surface above?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He frowns. Confused as to the purpose of this exercise but curious, he asks, “What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She beeps thoughtfully. “What does this one mean? This one means for Friend Corin to picture dirt under his legs, not this metal monstrosity. Doombot means for her friend to think of the chemical composition of earth. Can he do this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” he says, thinking of nitrogen-rich soil and scraggy grass under his hands. He pictures the sky overhead and the sun breaching the rocky horizon. Up above, dawn will be breaking, and the smoke surrounding open vents will be sunlit and steaming. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Of course,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>she mutters. “Tch. Friend Corin will hold this position for the next hour, and he will do it quietly and without complaint. He will imagine the rivers of lava flowing on the surface, and the lifeforms that call this place home. Yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” he agrees, because he has time before his shift and this doesn’t feel much different from his nightly routine, when he stands under the stars and listens to the nightlife around him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Corin taught young cadets to steal time for themselves, to find a place that speaks to them as individuals and center themselves. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Just breathe,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he remembers telling the children under his charge, </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel your lungs expand  and the air enter your body. Let your clouding thoughts leave with your breath and focus on that feeling for as long as you can, even if it’s only for a minute. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The children already knew their duty, to do as they were told and follow instructions. A few, however, did not benefit whatsoever from the mini-lessons, so those ones he’d take aside and have them do paces or work with their hands as they calmed their minds as well as their bodies. He did it clandestinely, because God knows what kind of punishment he’d endure if officers found out he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>painting </span>
  </em>
  <span>Stormtrooper helmets or doing arts and crafts with a future soldier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This exercise felt remarkably similar to what he’d teach his kids.</span>
</p><p><span>“Feel the thermal currents rising from the heart of the planet,”</span> <span>Doombot says. “Imagine Nevarro’s vast mantle, the power of the inner core and how its power produces the magnetic fields that surround this world. Can Friend Corin do this?”</span></p><p>
  <span>Serene and untroubled, Corin can. He sees the makings of an invisible shield, brought to life deep in the planet’s core and weaving up and around him. The force protects the surface from the harmful rays of the sun, and ensures the atmosphere remains intact so that plants can grow and life can flourish. Deeper, past the crust and skirting the outer mantle, Corin pictures molten metal and viscous rock, but it’s Doombot he focuses on, her lecturing tones and latent electricity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Friend Corin must also feel his own heart in his chest,” she continues as he fights not to float away and into the dancing magnetic fields. “He must feel his own energy and the connection he has to the Universe. Friend Corin must know himself, trust in the metal grate beneath his knees and the hot air in this horrid place. Can he do this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” His voice is more distant than the clouds in the atmosphere, closer than the magma that feels so far away. It’s the vibration of his voice box that reminds him of his body, the air he takes in order to speak that calls him back to himself, where he is kneeling on a walkway in the heat shaft of Hellscape’s Imperial base. He feels stretched thin yet refreshed, tired but energized. He remembers that he has eyes so that he can see, he has hands so that he can interact with the world, he has legs so he can move in the three dimensions he lives in. “Yes, I… I can do that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She beeps, pleased. “Good! This exercise is over. Friend Corin must go and sustain himself—breakfast is the most important meal of the day, and humans require consistent intake.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Corin stands and makes his leave, he notices off-handedly that he doesn’t feel sore. His knees don’t ache from holding the same position for an hour, his back doesn’t pop as he stretches and his ankles don’t crack as he walks. The only noteworthy thing he feels is…Well, it’s hard for him to describe. It’s like…there’s another presence in the back of his mind, something that </span>
  <em>
    <span>feels different</span>
  </em>
  <span> to himself, something </span>
  <em>
    <span>other.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It’s a force that beats like a pulse, like a second heart, another living being that is warm and young and </span>
  <em>
    <span>new.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It’s not something to fear, even though his head should belong only to </span>
  <em>
    <span>himself</span>
  </em>
  <span>; it’s a thing that should be protected, something that’s vulnerable and young and alien.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I wanted to wait until I had the last part of this more fleshed out, in case there was any confusion about <em>what</em> that "mysterious, alien presence" was, but honestly? This chapater has been sitting in my Google drive for WAY too long and I miss my bois :(</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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